From A to Z
by amberdowny
Summary: Hawkeye, BJ and the others have their own little challenges to face, together and alone.
1. Anger

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet. I kind of twisted it a little, and I am/did write 26 fics, but they're all connected and could be chapters in one fic. That's probably how I'm going to post it on FFN. I call it the Alphaverse. I'm also using different character POVs for each letter. Well, not EACH letter, but no two in a row are the same at least.

A/N: A, anger. Hawkeye's POV. On a side note, this idea has been a plot bunny in my head for awhile now. I'm glad I finally get a chance to write it out.

**Anger**

The only thing that registers is the look on his face. It's a look of anger. I don't wait for him to say anything. Instead, I leave. I'm dimly aware of him saying something, but the voice inside my head is stronger, and it's saying _leave and get a strong drink_. I head to Rosie's.

It feels strange to be sitting at a table drinking alone. B.J. is usually with me, and before him, Trapper was usually with me. Even Rosie has noticed. "Hello Hawkeye. Are you alone tonight?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "Um, I want a glass of the strongest stuff you've got."

Rosie looks at me appraisingly. "Yeah, you look like you need it," she says shrewdly. "Coming right up."

"Thanks Rosie," I reply. While I wait for the alcohol, I think about what led up to this moment.

It had been a difficult day today, only six patients in post-op but one of B.J.'s, a kid named Jacobs, was in pretty bad shape. By three o'clock , Beej was starting to think that he'd missed a bleeder, and no matter what anyone said, he beat himself up over it.

"I can't even go in to fix it because he has an infection already, on top of everything else!" B.J. fumed in the Mess Tent.

"Look son, we're not all perfect. We all make mistakes once in awhile. You'll get this thing with Jacobs fixed and everything will be fine," Colonel Potter consoled.

B.J. sighed impatiently. "I shouldn't have to fix it in the first place!"

I kept quiet. I'd already attempted to tell Beej it wasn't his fault, and he hadn't listened. He was too intent on being angry with himself.

After failed attempts by both Margaret and Charles to convince B.J. it wasn't his fault (though _I'm _not convinced Charles' was all that sincere) he stood up. "I'm going back to the Swamp," he said. "Hawkeye, are you coming?"

"Yeah," I said, and followed him out of the Mess Tent.

I had been planning to tell B.J. the truth about something, but I was having second thoughts because of Jacobs. B.J. was distracted and irritable. I had wanted to tell him when he would be most likely to have a positive reaction. So I kept quiet while B.J. and I drank our way through half a pitcher of gin. I noticed that Beej seemed to be preventing himself from downing the whole thing himself. I was glad, because as I'd learned after Radar left, he could become prone to violence while drunk.

It was later, nearly seven, when I finally told him. And then there had been the anger, directed not at himself but at me.

All I can say is, I'm glad I only told him half of it.

Rosie comes back with my glass, sets it down. I take a sip, then stifle the urge to cough. It's worse than the stuff in the still. I only hope it does some good.


	2. Bewilderment

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: B, bewilderment. B.J.'s POV. Picks up right before Hawk tells B.J., and then actually reveals what it is, although you can guess from my disclaimer.

**Bewilderment**

I don't know what to do about Jacobs. I know I missed a bleeder, but it's too dangerous to go back in until his infection clears up. If it doesn't clear up in a few days, I'll have to go back in, and he could die.

It's at moments like this when I wish I'd become a lawyer instead. Or a professional basketball player. At the moment, all I'm becoming is intoxicated, and that never helps.

It's nearing seven now, and Hawkeye hasn't said much, just listened to me rant about Jacobs. Suddenly he clears his throat, and I fall silent, waiting to hear what he's going to say.

"Um, Beej?" he begins hesitantly, and I frown. Hawkeye doesn't hesitate; Hawkeye jumps in and usually ends up over his head.

"What?" I reply, a second later.

He shuffles his feet, hesitates some more, then says, "I um, I should tell you something."

"Go on," I say, my curiosity awakening.

"I, uh…well, I uh…I'm pretty sure that I'm…." He drags the word out, making a simple contraction last for five seconds instead of one.

"You're…?" I reply, dragging the word out in a mimic of him.

"Um, homosexual," he mumbles.

I freeze. This is so _wrong_, it goes against nature. Not homosexuality in itself, but _Hawkeye_ being homosexual. Hawkeye is the lady-killer, the seducer and is self-proclaimed to be sex itself.

This bewildering, tiring day is only going to become more so, I sense.

Hawkeye looks stunned, then turns and walks quickly away. I realize that I don't know what my facial expression was like, and Hawkeye probably thinks I hate him.

"Hawk, wait a minute!" I say, desperately, but he ignores me and breaks into a jog as he disappears into the twilight. He's probably headed for Rosie's.

"Damn it," I say to myself, and drop to my bunk. I take another sip of gin, and then sigh. When Hawkeye comes back, I'll tell him that I don't hate him. Maybe I'll tell him more, about how I feel now. Even if he's drunk and won't remember any of it anyway, I have to let him know that I don't hate him.

I've been sitting for perhaps half an hour when I hear the sound of someone running. The door to the Swamp is flung open as Klinger skids to a stop. "B.J.," he pants. "Major Houlihan told me to get you real quick. That kid, Jacobs, his temperature has gone up to a hundred and six, and she says you should take a look."

"_Damn it_," I say again, for the second time this evening. "All right, I'll be right there."

I toss back the last of the gin in my glass, then stand and head over to post-op. I may have to go in again, despite the danger, because it'll be more dangerous not to.


	3. Calamity

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: C, calamity. Radar's POV, purely because I suck at writing tension, and that's what's going on in the OR. This one is more of a drabble than the other two are. Oh, and one more brief note--I'm not sure about farming in the 50s, or in Iowa. I don't know whether a milkhouse would have been used, or whether that's common terminology or a term unique to my farming friend.

**Calamity**

I look up suddenly from milking Edna. "Uh-oh," I say to her. "You know what Edna, Hawkeye and B.J. are in trouble."

She doesn't say anything back--my animals never do, even though they gotta have stuff on their minds.

"Hawkeye thinks B.J.'s mad at him," I continue. "And B.J. can't do anything about it 'cause he's got a patient in OR that's keeping him busy. I hope he's okay," I add anxiously. "You know Edna, it seems like everything always goes wrong at the same time. There's trouble in Korea, and the well went dry, you know. It'll rain next week and fill it up some, but we'll have to be real careful on water for a few months. And Ester just died last week too."

I stop talking for a minute, out of respect for the dead hen.

"But our chicks'll grow up, and we'll have enough hens again," I say to Edna. I grin at her. "It'll all get better around here, you'll see."

I finish the milking and move the bucket. I start to take it to the milkhouse, and then I set it on the ground and run back to Edna.

"And Hawkeye and B.J. will be okay too," I say quickly. "It just might take a little while."

Edna looks at me and starts chewing her cud. I know that she's as relieved as I am.


	4. Death

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: D, death. Margaret's POV. Man, is it hard to get into her head.

**Death**

"We're losing him, doctor," Nurse Jenkins, acting as anesthesiologist, says to B.J.

B.J. swears and asks quickly, "Pressure? Clamp," he adds to me.

I hand him the clamp as Jenkins begins "S--" She stops before she gets the word out and then says urgently, "No pulse, doctor."

"Adrenaline," B.J. snaps and one of the other nurses rushes away. His hands move up to the chest and he begins to try and start Jacobs' heart beating again, as I supply him with air. "Jenkins?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

We continue to try to revive him for another few seconds.

"Now?"

"Nothing."

B.J. exhales deeply. "Okay. All right." He's quiet for a moment and then, "I can't--" he begins, and then stops. He shakes his head. "Father?"

Father Mulcahy comes over and issues the last rites.

B.J. has gone back to the Swamp. I'm on my way over to…I don't know why I'm going. I just know that he's taken this hard, and Pierce isn't likely to be able to comfort him properly. Some things just require a woman's touch.

I knock on the door, and when a dejected voice mumbles "Come in," I push it open.

"I thought you might want some company," I say.

B.J. looks up from the floor. "Thanks Margaret," he says quietly.

"Where's Pierce?" I ask, suddenly noticing he's not in the tent.

"We had a…an argument, earlier," he answers, sounding completely miserable.

"Oh…The problem with Jacobs wasn't your fault," I say bluntly.

He sighs and shakes his head, looking back at the floor. "Yeah, it was," he replies. "God, I hate death." I shrug helplessly, not knowing what to say. "I'm a doctor!" he says suddenly. "I'm supposed to prevent it, not cause it!"

"You didn't." He snorts derisively. "Fine, I can see I'm not going to change your mind," I snap. Then I add, in a slightly softer tone, "If you want to talk, my door's open."

He looks up again. "Thank you Margaret," he says sincerely. I leave, closing the door gently behind me.

He doesn't seem to understand, we all hate death. And we all feel responsible at one time or another.


	5. Explanations

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: E, explanations. B.J.'s POV.

**Explanations**

I was wrong. The day hasn't become more bewildering and tiring, it's become horrendous and exhausting. I sigh heavily as I contemplate the ceiling of the tent. There's a spider I've been watching make a web. A spider's web is very intricate and beautiful, as nothing else is. Tonight especially, Korea is bleak and dreary.

The door to the Swamp bangs open, and the smell of alcohol reaches my nose. It's Hawkeye then. I cock my head slightly to the left to see him. He's not singing or staggering, so I can assume he's not falling-down drunk.

He sits on his bunk slowly, though I don't know if it's because he's drunker than I thought or if it's because he's afraid of what I might say. Frankly, I don't care.

"Um…how's Jacobs doing?" he asks cautiously.

I close my eyes. "He's dead," I reply, more harshly than intended.

I hear Hawkeye suck in a breath. "Jesus, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, was it? It was mine. I'm so goddamn sick of watching kids die and not being able to do anything about it." I'm too tired even to be passionate.

"It…it wasn't your fault," Hawkeye says, for about the hundredth time today. It's that hesitancy again that makes me open my eyes and sit up.

"Just stop it, will you?" I say tiredly.

Hawkeye winces as though I've yelled. "I was just trying to--"

"Not that. Stop being so hesitant." He's about to protest, so I continue quickly, "I don't hate you, for god's sake. How could I? I was just surprised."

He stares at me. "Oh. I thought…oh." He's quiet for a minute, and then he says, "But Beej, it really wasn't your fault."

I'm relieved to hear the old familiarity again. "I'm not going to argue. I can't deal with problems between us and problems with just me. But know that I don't agree."

"Yes, all right…. You look exhausted. Sleep."

"I have post-op duty in an hour," I protest feebly.

"I'll cover for you," Hawk says firmly. "_Sleep_."

I lie down again and close my eyes. "Okay," I say quietly. The cot suddenly creaks and shifts as Hawkeye sits on the end.

"Beej?" he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

I open my eyes. "Yeah?"

He's silent for a moment, then says, "Thank you for not hating me."

I close my eyes again and mumble, "I already said, how could I?"

I fall asleep, comforted just by Hawkeye's weight at the foot of my bed.


	6. Furthermore

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: F, furthermore. Hawkeye's POV. I suppose I ought to do Potter, and Charles, and Klinger…later. Mm, this is the longest chapter so far. It breaks 1000 words.

Random trivia: "I" Corps. Not Icor or any permutation thereof. Just so y'all know.

**Furthermore**

I frown, a little, as I watch B.J. sleep. I've moved to a chair now, but I still watch him. I do that a lot, but he never wakes up. Whenever someone watches me sleep, I feel their eyes on me and wake up immediately. Normally, the tension fades from Beej's face and he looks happy or peaceful as he sleeps.

Tonight is different. Tonight, he looks troubled, and the tension has increased if anything.

I sigh. He's really taking Jacobs' death hard. He's had to deal with death before, but I guess this time he feels like it's his fault. But it _isn't_, damn it.

It must be about time for B.J.'s shift. I check my watch.

I rise from my chair, and then take one last look at him. I turn toward the door, and then I hesitate and turn back. I lean down and brush a light kiss across his forehead, then slip out into the dark compound. I cross to Post-Op.

"Pierce?" Charles questions when I step in. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm covering for B.J.," I reply. "He's having a hard time, what with Jacobs and everything."

Charles looks as though he's about to say something, but thinks better of it. He leaves. I call after him, though I'm not sure he can hear me, "Don't bother him!"

It's a quiet night in post-op. The remaining five patients are all sleeping comfortably, and they're all relatively healthy. Kellye is the nurse on duty, and she looks up occasionally from whatever she's writing, but she's mostly absorbed in that.

I've never been one for silences, so after about an hour of quiet, I ask softly, "What are you working on?"

Kellye looks up at me. "Oh…nothing," she says, blushing a little.

"Writing a romance novel?" I tease her gently.

"Well, you're half right. I am working on a novel," she admits.

"Yeah? How are you doing?"

She smiles. "I've got the first draft nearly done, but there's a lot of revisions I need to make."

"Good for you," I say, and mean it.

"Thank you," she replies, and then looks back at her papers. Apparently, she doesn't have the aversion to silence I have.

I sigh and decide to use the time to decide what to say when I drop the other half of the bomb on B.J.…or whether I _should_ drop it.

When B.J.'s shift is over, I go back to the Swamp. I haven't decided on much of anything, but I'll play it by ear. Besides, now is hardly the time to tell B.J. something like this. He has enough to deal with as it is.

I open the door slowly, so as not to wake anyone (well, mostly B.J.) and slip inside. I immediately see that my caution was unnecessary; Charles is snoring and B.J. is lying awake, staring at the ceiling again. He looks over at me as I walk in, and I'm struck by a sudden feeling of déjà vu.

"I thought you'd be asleep," I whisper, sitting in the chair between our cots.

He shrugs. "Couldn't sleep. I still feel so damn guilty about Jacobs." I open my mouth, about to protest, but B.J. continues, "Logically, I know that it wasn't my fault. But my brain isn't getting the message through to my heart. I can't help feeling that there was something more I should have done."

I consider for a moment, and then ask hesitantly, "Do you think Sidney could help?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'll work it out."

"I hope so," I reply. We sit in silence. It's funny, how silences with Beej seem so natural.

Finally B.J. breaks the silence. "I might as well have gone to post-op."

"Why's that?" I inquire.

"I woke up right as you left," he replies. He sits up before going on, "I didn't actually get much sleep."

I panic with quiet grace. He must've woken up because I kissed him. I only hope he didn't wake up _as_ I kissed him. "Any, uh, interesting dreams?" I ask.

"Some that were somewhat unpleasant," he says, frowning. "Why?"

"You looked troubled."

He smiles a little. "There was one that _was_ pleasant though. You leaned over me and…" He trails off, blushing.

"And?"

"I uh, don't remember," B.J. says quickly. A little too quickly.

I gather up my courage and blurt out, "I don't think it was a dream."

He scoffs and says scornfully, "I highly doubt that you kissed--" He stops suddenly, and then looks away.

"But I did. Beej, I wanted to tell you earlier tonight, when I told you the other thing. I think I've managed to fall in love with you."

B.J. looks shocked. I stay this time, waiting for the next emotion.

It stays shocked.

"Um…B.J.?" I say hesitantly.

He shakes his head, then says, "I…didn't expect that, Hawk. Even less than I expected…the other thing."

"But you said your 'dream' was pleasant…?"

"I'll admit, I do have some feelings for you--don't look at me like that, you must have noticed--but…but _love_…it's such a strong word, Hawk. And one that carries a lot of meaning. I…I couldn't possibly ever say it to anyone but Peg."

I try to shrug, but I think all I do is twitch. "I didn't think you would."

"I don't want to hurt you, Hawk--god, that's the last thing I want--but…well." He pauses, and then continues delicately, "We both have feelings for one another." Another pause and his next words are shy. "Maybe we should act on them?"

I can't suppress the smile that spreads across my face. "Why would that hurt me?"

"Well…if you supposedly love me, and I--"

"It doesn't matter," I say firmly. Then I lean over to him and press my lips to his. I hear a muffled groan, though whether it comes from me or B.J. I neither know nor care.

He pulls away. "We can't do this, not with Charles here," he murmurs.

"You're right." I'm quiet for a moment, and then slowly a grin spreads across my face. "But he's not always here."

B.J. smiles too, for the first time since his initial operation on Jacobs. "You're right too."

"Of course I am."


	7. Gambling

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: G, gambling. Father Mulcahy's POV. This one was VERY difficult, because 1, I'm not Catholic and 2, I had no idea how to play poker when I started writing. Much thanks to hawkeyecat on LJ for the Wikipedia link! (I'm still not any good…)

Random trivia: McIntyre. Not MacIntyre.

**Gambling**

"Ante," B.J. says, and we all put in a dollar. "Anyone open?"

Seeing B.J. like this, playing poker, rather than being upset about Private Jacobs' death, is heartening. I'm so glad to see it. He took a chance, with the second surgery, and he failed.

"I'll open for two," I announce. I have a pair of fives, a pair of eights and a six. Klinger, Hawkeye, Margaret and B.J. all call.

"Father?" B.J. asks.

"Uh, one, please," I reply. Perhaps I'll get a full house. B.J. deals me my card, and it's a ten. No full house.

He didn't expect to fail, of course. No one ever _completely _expects to fail.

Klinger gets three, Hawkeye gets one and Margaret and B.J. also take three.

Hawkeye makes a bet of five dollars. Margaret and B.J. fold, but I take the chance and call. Klinger also folds. Hawkeye reveals that he has a straight.

"Sorry Father," he says, as he gathers the money. I've lost eight dollars, but I stay in the game. My luck may change.

Luck can always change.

It's my deal now. Every one antes one dollar, and Klinger opens for one. Everyone calls. I have three hearts--it's possible that I'll get a flush.

Sometimes things work out the way you want them to, sometimes they don't.

I deal out replacements, three to Klinger and B.J., two to everyone else, and then Klinger bets five dollars. Everyone folds. I didn't get my flush, and I only have a king-high. Even I can't take that kind of leap of faith. I've only lost two dollars this round.

Sometimes you don't lose much; other times you lose a lot.

It's Klinger's deal. The ante is again one dollar, and the bet is two. After I get my replacements, the best I have is a pair of threes. Hawkeye bets five dollars again. Margaret and B.J. both fold.

"Well," I say, "Sometimes you have to take chances. Call."


	8. Hate

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: H, hate. Klinger's POV. I've decided to take this fic in a new direction, and while Beej and Hawk will be the main focus, and most of the chapters will be from their POVs, I think Margaret, Father Mulcahy, Klinger and Charles will have their own little storylines. Potter, unfortunately, doesn't quite fit in. I suppose I'll give him a chapter or two, but he won't have much of a storyline. Another short one…212 words.

**Hate**

I've done a lot of thinking since I've been over here, and I've finally figured it out. This might be the obvious conclusion, but everything major happens because of hate. War comes from hate, Laverne leaving me came from hate, even my section 8 that never happened didn't happen because of hate.

Okay, _maybe_ I'm exaggerating. A little. Laverne never hated me. I kinda hated her, and her sausage-man, but hate wasn't the main reason. And I guess the section 8 never happened 'cause Henry would have got in trouble if he gave it to me, and so would Colonel Potter. But--

But those last two things did happen 'cause of _war_! And war happened 'cause of hate, so they _did_ happen because of hate! So maybe I'm right after all…nah. It's better to say that everything major happens because of war. I might be being obvious again, but war is the worst thing ever. War is why all these young kids are dying, and why I have to carry them back and forth, hoping they'll be saved. War is why all these doctors are here, trying to deal with stuff they wouldn't see in a Stateside hospital.

War--and this is obvious again--is the cause of all problems.

I hate war.


	9. Impossible

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: I, Impossible. Charles' POV. The shortest chapter yet! 183 words! Really, these all just HAPPEN to be connected…one can easily stand on its own. Although, I think the Hawkeye and B.J. ones rather depend on each other…

Random trivia: Lisa rocks. Seriously. I heart her. Why? 1, her fics are awesome. 2, she gives great advice/comment-y stuff…(I am incoherent…) 3, she made a B.J./Hawkeye vid, using a song which I, only this weekend, heard on the radio and thought, "Oh! That is the perfect B.J./Hawkeye song." Didn't know what it was called, would have forgotten about it. (note: written 5/16)

**Impossible**

Only a few short years ago, if anyone had told me I would be spending my days and nights in a filthy, uneducated country such as this, I would have suggested they seek psychiatric help. A Winchester? Here? Impossible.

A few short months ago, if anyone had told me that not only was I in Korea, but I would soon be in a mobile army surgical hospital, I would have suggested that they too seek psychiatric help. Impossible. A Winchester, operate in conditions such as these?

Unfortunately, the impossible has proven to be, indeed, possible. I am stuck in Korea, in a MASH unit, in a filthy tent with two _gentlemen_, if one can even use that word to describe Pierce and Hunnicutt, who are utterly different from myself.

Any and all of my attempts to return to Tokyo General have failed. I have given up. It seems impossible that I will ever return there, except for a few days at a time on recreation.

Ah-haaa…impossible…it has been proven that the impossible, is indeed, possible. Perhaps I can get out of here yet…


	10. Justaposed

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would have been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible

A/N: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet. (only 16 left--yay!) J, juxtaposed. B.J.'s POV.  
Random trivia: B.J. is indeed spelled with dots. Whether it stands for something or not, there are dots.

**Juxtaposed**

Hawk and I are walking from the Mess to the Swamp. His arm brushes against mine, so lightly I would barely notice, if not for the fact that his touch always sends a shiver of electricity through me.

I've noticed before, but I notice even more now, how close Hawk and I stand, sit and walk. You rarely ever find one of us without the other, and now it seems like we're never apart. I guess I've been making more of a point to brush his shoulder with mine as we walk, his knee with mine as we eat.

It's always happened, but it was also always accidental. Well…not conscious, at any rate.

Now, it's on purpose, more of a prelude to the kisses that we'll sneak than anything else.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Hawkeye asks me, breaking into my thoughts.

"Us," I answer honestly.

"Yeah? What about us?"

I shrug. "How much we 'accidentally' touch each other." I nudge him with my elbow.

He nudges back as he steps past me into the Swamp. "Oh, so it'd be an accident if I did this?" he smirks, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the Swamp too. As soon as the door bangs shut, he kisses me.

"Well," I gasp when the kiss is over, "I guess so."

Hawkeye grins at me. "I assure you, it was no accident."

"Well then, I guess I was thinking about how much we touch each other on purpose."

Hawkeye laughs, and then steps over to the still. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he says, handing me a drink.

"You're the one who made me feel better," I point out. "Well, you helped at least."

Hawk sits on his cot, and gestures for me to sit beside him. As I do, he says, "I did." I take a sip of my drink. "I don't…" he trails off, and I look up from my glass to see why. He's staring at our knees, which are touching.

"Clearly, you are fascinated by the human knee."

"No, it's just…huh. You're right. We do touch a lot." He's quiet for a second, and then goes on thoughtfully, "We always have, practically from the day you got here…was it all leading up to this?"

I think about it for a minute, then reply, "Maybe, if you believe in some kind of divine plan. Or maybe we're just physical people."

"I think I like the divine plan idea better."

"Why, Hawkeye Pierce, you hopeless romantic," I tease.

He sticks his tongue out at me, and then takes a swallow of his drink. I toss back the last of mine, and then stand up to refill my glass. "Beej," Hawkeye asks, "you wanna fill mine too?"

"If I must," I sigh, then fill both glasses and return to the bed. Hawkeye accepts his drink with one hand, and then flings the other across my shoulders.

"Thanks."


	11. Klinger

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: K, Klinger. Guess whose POV? I have…3 letters completely planned out, and 6 with penciled-in characters. That only leaves…6 letters of total cluelessness. Yay! A short one…again. sigh

Random trivia: David Ogden Stiers voices Jumba in _Lilo and Stitch_, and all the sequels. (Can we say Disney sequelitis?)

**Klinger**

Okay, so dresses didn't work. Eating a jeep didn't work. Pretending I loved the army didn't work. I've given up on trying to get out. I still hate war, and the army, but I guess I just have to live with it.

I walk into the Mess Tent. "Hey Igor. What do we have today?"

"Well, we've got meat loaf," Igor offers. I look at the brown stuff suspiciously.

"Okay," I say finally. "It doesn't look lethal." I take my tray and sit with Colonel Potter, Father Mulcahy, Hawkeye and B.J.

"Someone should hold a protest against army food," Hawkeye is saying. He's holding up a slice of meatloaf on his fork. "I mean really, they expect us to eat something that looks like dried-up road kill and smells like…" he pauses to sniff it. "Month-old gym socks boiled in sewage."

Everyone else at the table groans and pushes their trays away.

"Aw, Hawk, do you have to do that?" B.J. complains.

Colonel Potter says something after that, but Hawkeye's given me an idea. What if I were to protest the war? That way, everyone who didn't get the message from my Section 8 attempts will _know_ that I hate the war.

After dinner, I walk up to Hawkeye and B.J. as they head toward the Swamp. "Hey guys, I have an idea."

"Really?" B.J. says. "Hawkeye, Klinger has an idea."

"I was thinking…what if I had a protest against the war?"

Hawkeye's eyes light up. "Heey…that's not a bad idea, Klinger. Do it, I'll join you."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah. You in, Beej?"

"Why not?"

I grin and head back to my office. I need to figure out some stuff…like how to have a protest. But I will. Maybe Hawkeye and B.J. can get a lot of the camp to join in. A lot of people do what they say.

"This will be great."


	12. Love

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

Challenge: Response to Lisa's ABC challenge: Write a fic for every letter of the alphabet.

A/N: L, love. Hawk's POV. God, these boys wanted to have sex this chapter. Do you know how hard it was to not write it? I think I need to up my rating…

Random trivia: A hawk is an advocate of war, and I'm quoting directly from (a rather older) Webster's. Ironic.

**Love**

Beej and I stand and watch Klinger walk away for a minute before we almost simultaneously turn back toward the Swamp. "He has a good idea," B.J. comments.

"Yeah. It won't do much good, in the grand scheme of things, but it'll be entertaining to think it will. Besides, rebellion is always fun." I glance at B.J.'s moustache and add with a smirk, "Unless it's cheesy instead."

B.J. mock-glares at me. I grin and open the door to the Swamp, gesturing grandly for him to go in first. He does, after one last glare. I step in behind him and let the door bang shut.

B.J. picks up a pad of paper and a pen, then lays back on his cot. "Easy on the door, or the whole tent will collapse," he says while scribbling.

"Whatcha writing?" I ask, pouring myself a drink.

"Letter to Peg. I got a letter from her the day of Jacobs' second surgery, and I wanted to wait to write back until I was in a better mood," B.J. replies.

"Oh." I sit on my own bed and pick up a book off the floor and open to a random place in the middle. I've read this book so many times, it makes sense wherever I begin.

I've read about twenty pages when I sense B.J.'s eyes on me. I look up at him and ask with a grin, "Is there something you wanted?"

"I've finished my letter."

"All right."

"I went exploring yesterday."

"All ri--wait, by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Idiot."

"I found something you might like."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. I think I should show you, 'cause there's no way I could explain that I found a lovely mine-free field surrounded by trees that's still within PA announcement hearing distance of the camp."

"Oh, _really_?" I put my book down and stand up. "Just what are you proposing, Beej?"

He grins mischievously and stands as well. "Whatever you want me to be proposing."

"Let's go."

I follow him out of the Swamp and to the end of camp opposite from Rosie's. He leads me about fifty yards away, to a line of trees. We push through them and come out in an open field, just as he's said.

"Are you sure there are no mines here?" I ask.

"Well, no. But I know there aren't any right _here_, here."

I shake my head. "Don't wander off by yourself again. What if you'd stepped on a mine?"

"I didn't, did I?" B.J. replies. "At least I found a place with semi-privacy."

"Mm, true. So, Beej…what shall we do with our privacy?"

He grins at me. His grin is slightly predatory. "I have an idea or two…" He steps closer to me, then grabs me by the shoulders and kisses me hard.

When the need for oxygen becomes too strong to ignore, I pull away from B.J. and gasp for breath. He grins at me again, then sinks to the ground, pulling me with him. I'm barely situated before he's kissing me again.

Now this is odd. I had assumed that he'd be a bit more hesitant, because of his devotion to Peg. Clearly not. I've been letting him dictate the pace, out of respect for his devotion, and it's been…fast. He was the one to suggest we act on our feelings, and he's been the one to initiate the more passionate kisses.

I'm distracted from my thoughts as B.J. slides a hand under the fabric of my T-shirt. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his moving hand, and I shiver. He smiles knowingly and starts tracing circles around my nipples.

I grab the back of his head and pull him in for yet another kiss. When this one ends, I murmur softly, "God, I love you."

His hand stills, and then he removes it from my shirt. "Hawkeye, I can't--you can't--_don't._"

"I'm sorry," I say, and mean it. There's only been one other person I've loved in my life, and that was Carlye. I didn't tell her, not so she believed me anyway, and I've always regretted that. I just wanted B.J. to know while I had the chance to tell him. Clearly though, B.J. doesn't want to know. I should have figured as much when he said he could only say it to Peg a few days ago.

"It's okay," he sighs. "Come on, we should get back."

"I'm sorry," I say again.

"I _know_, Hawkeye. I'm not mad. I…I need to think, is all. Okay?"

"Okay."

As we walk back to camp, both of us are quiet, lost in thought. I don't know what B.J.'s thinking about. I'm thinking about love and how unpredictable and intimidating it is.


End file.
